


Bed of Roses

by joan_was_quizzical



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bitter, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unrequited Love, pinning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joan_was_quizzical/pseuds/joan_was_quizzical
Summary: John wasn't exactly a skeptic, but his internal biases tried to deny it. Despite that, the simple fact that he first started throwing up flowers the day Paul got engaged & the disease went away the day of their official breakup was not lost on John. It allowed John an easy way out; a way to shift the blame to someone else while he preserved his own precious ego...-Although dissatisfied & unhappy, he put up with throwing up flowers almost every day. What else could he do? Besides, he eventually stopped throwing flowers up. In his own slightly twisted point of view, Paul ending his engagement to Jane allowed John to convince himself selfishly that Paul was still his.However, Paul’s second engagement made John’s whole world shatter. This time, marriage came & was official; the reality of everything slapped John across the face.Then the flowers came back, this time, coated in blood.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Bed of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning(s):
> 
> \- Language  
> \- Description of someone being sick/throwing up

* * *

The first time it happened was in late December of 1967; a melancholic time. For the life of him, John Lennon could never remember the exact date. However, he knew it was one of the couple days right after Christmas where the world decidedly stripped itself of the charming atmosphere the holiday season provided.

Many Christmas lights were lazily left outside on houses until New Years passed. Christmas trees around the globe sit in living rooms waiting silently to be hauled out of the house. Hanukkiahs are put away, lonely until Hanukkah comes once again. Strangers aren't as inclined to regard you with lighthearted kindness, kids are sent back to school, winter’s snow is no longer welcomed with glee, & life ultimately returns back to normal.

The Lennon family was no strangers to this, not in any way immune to the change. Julian’s excitement over Christmas was over & done with, although the toys he received Christmas morning are still the only ones he’s been playing with. Being adults, John & Cynthia were over it quicker than Julian.

It was on one of those days that Cynthia had approached John with Julian trailing close behind her. John sat alone at the kitchen table, his shoulders hunching his back in a comfortable but unhealthy position as he read a newspaper.

“John,” Cynthia addressed him calmly. John pulled his gaze away from the newspaper & looked up at Cynthia, raising both his eyebrows. He hummed quizzically in response, implying for her to go on. Cynthia obliged, “I'm gonna go run those errands I mentioned to you earlier today. Jules is coming with me.” John nodded, & Cynthia continued, “Is there...anything you need before we go?”

John shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “No, ‘m good.”

“Alright,” Cynthia replied, turning towards Julian, “Say ‘goodbye’ to daddy & we’ll head out.”

She gave Julian a smile before walking off toward the entryway. The barely-present sound of her feet walking on the floor quickly disappeared after her.

Julian looked up at his father, hesitating before he rushed over to him. He latched himself onto John’s side & wrapped his arms around him, hugging as tight as a boy his age could. Chuckling, John wrapped an arm around Julian in return & used the other to ruffle up his hair.

“Bye-bye, daddy,” Julian mumbled, his voice radiating a bittersweet, boyish-like innocence.

“See yeh, Jules,” John replied, “Be good for yer mum.”

Nodding, Julian pulled away. He made his way to the entryway, disappearing like Cynthia, a smile persisting on the little boy’s face.

Just when John was going to turn back to his newspaper, Cynthia walked back into the kitchen. She had put on her nice, long winter coat & brown boots. She'd draped her purse on her shoulder, stuffing her hands into her pockets. 

“We’ll be back soon,” she promised. Making her way over to John, she set a hand down on his shoulder. “You...can come with us if you’d like.”

John pondered the idea for a moment but eventually shook his head. He’d been feeling queasy all day & worried he would feel worse going out. “No no...it’s fine, Cyn. Yeh & Julian have fun for me?” he asked, taking her hand in his & kissing it. 

Cynthia tilted her head to the side curiously, "Your stomach still causing you trouble?"

John offered her a weak smile & nodded.

"Drink some water then."

"Beer is close enough, right?" he asked playfully, winking twice.

Cynthia smiled, “Whatever you say, John.”

She leaned down & the two kissed briefly. Although John knew he’d forget or simply disregard it again soon, at that moment he loved her. Cynthia pulled away, giving John a final glance before turning to leave the kitchen again. A minute or two passes & the door is shutting behind Cynthia & Julian.

Spending time with Cynthia & Julian over the holiday season made John feel guilty. The game John & Cynthia played-pretending everything was perfectly fine in their marriage-was exhausting. It was all a matter of who would crack under the stress first, or if John would fuck up past the point of no return. Both John & Cynthia mentally betted on the latter.

Looking down at the newspaper, John let out a deep sigh. Frowning, he folded the newspaper back up & plopped it down on the table.   
As the newspaper landed on the table, the phone in the sunroom started to abruptly ring. The sound was harsh, jarringly so. It was enough to make John thankful he didn’t flinch or jump in surprise.

With another sigh, he stood up from his spot at the kitchen table & quickly walked into the sunroom. Once he got to the phone, John hesitated.  
Something felt wrong about this. John was intimidated & felt an odd pit forming in his stomach. It swirled with alarm; his gut not at all liking the situation. He almost wanted to let the phone ring & not answer it.

John shook his head, mentally scolding himself for being foolish, & picked up the phone. Holding it to his ear, he answered with a pleasant yet bored tone of voice. "Hello, this is John Lennon speaking."

Upon pondering the conversation he had over the phone a day later, John swore he knew who was on the other end of the line before they replied to his awkward greeting.

"Hey, Johnny! It’s Paul."

Paul’s sounded cheerful. It was the tone of voice someone would use when working as a waiter or cashier, only without the pandering undertone. Even then John liked to believe Paul wasn’t above kissing someone’s ass _like_ a waiter. 

"What’s up, Macca?" John asked, his own voice a bit gentler now. "& before yeh ask, yeh ought to know 'm fresh outta favors for the time being."

John heard a chuckle, then a pause. The silence made the swirling in John’s stomach begin to twist into a

( _Lump of coal? Jesus, John, get over the holiday season already_ )

messy mass. John desperately wished he could ignore it.

“No no…’s nothing like that,” Paul replied.

“Hmm...well, I suppose I’ll listen,” John decided, “What’cha calling for then?”

( _Maybe it's a twister. t’s a strong one, innet, Johnny boy? A real howler! One that would make someone as straight-faced as Geo wet their shorts. It’s getting closer; oh me god-_

John rubbed his eyes with his free hand. 

( _No, that's fucking stupid._ )

“John… ’m... getting married! Jane & I got engaged!”

"Oh."

For a second, John briefly became aware of how stupid he probably looked. Standing alone in his sunroom with the phone glued to his ear, his fingers turning white from gripping the phone too hard. His shoulders & torso were slightly slouched forward in a not-very-presentable stance. John figured he looked like a real jackass.

“Oh?” Paul asked, his voice airy & offended. “What do yeh mean ‘oh?’ John, ‘m getting _married_!”

( _That’s right, married. Paul McCartney is getting married. That word, that disgusting, insulting, terrifying word-_ )

John looked down at his wedding ring shamefully. The love for Cynthia didn't come back, but he barely felt it enough for a wave of guilt to wash over him. 

( _Yes, yer married. Don’t yeh know that, Johnny? Yeh’ve got yerself a pretty thick skull, I’ll have t’ admit, but I suppose something has gotta be stinking up the place rotten._

( _Doesn’t matter. Paul’s getting married. Paul McCartney. My Paul. Marriage is a promise that holds a lot of weight to it. The word ‘marriage’ itself is a powerful, grown-up word. It means serious business._

( _Paul & I are serious business. At least, I thought so..._

( _Who even cares about that right now anyway? Don't have time to think about things like that. God...not when me stomach is feeling like bloody hell._ )

“John?”

Blinking, John shook his head. He’d been standing there

( _A real jackass_ )

staring at the wall for the last minute. Biting his lower lip, John was quick to mentally fuss over how to reply. His head was thumping with concentration. What should he say when he fucked up like that? Congratulations? It would only be appropriate.

“Y-Yeah…” John mumbled, “Sorry, Paul. Congrats. Yeah...congrats.”

A pause.

“John…” Paul’s voice now sounded concerned rather than offended, “Yeh’re acting daft. Feeling okay?”

John gripped the phone ever tighter, feeling something slowly slide up & out of his stomach completely. Swallowing, John's eyes widened & his cheeks paled. A large lump was in his throat now, dry & heavy. 

It crept up his throat more, making John gasp for breath. It was too large & didn't allow much room for him to breathe. He placed his free hand over his throat, choking out a few heavy breathes here & there. John leaned against the little table the receiver sat on, his hip colliding with the wood harshly, making the legs of the table skid obnoxiously against the wooden flooring. 

Panicked, John replied with a quick “No!” & as of it were a reflex, John’s elbow jerked his forearm down. He slapped the phone on the receiver, hanging up on a confused Paul.   
John held his breath for a moment, waiting for that damned ringing to start again. It didn’t & he felt his chest grow heavy.

An odd gag erupted from the back of his throat, making John briefly choke on the lump again. He immediately sprang to life, sprinting out of the sunroom & into the living room. His arms held out in front of him

( _Jackass_ )

as he rushed towards the nearest bathroom. He threw open the door, slapping the lightswitch on. Dropping to his knees in front of the toilet, John opened the lid and gagged again.

John gripped both sides of the toilet seat, John gagged a couple more times before he was able to force the vomit out of his throat. He dumped the contents of his stomach into the bowl, cringing as it splashed as it landed in the toilet water. He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for air as he coughed out the last bit of what he had to offer. His mouth was strikingly dry & had no aftertaste. In the moment, he had thought nothing of it. 

John let himself sit on his knees, his entire body shaking pathetically from sickness & surprise. His eyes were still screwed shut, not exactly jumping at the opportunity to see whatever it was he vomited up.

Sighing, John leaned his head back & opened his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, attempting to regain control of his breathing. His chest was heaving up & down, & he was sweating like the last student to finish the mile run in gym class.

( _Gotta get control of meself...I’ll be damned if I let Jules get home & see me like this._)

Closing his eyes again for a moment, he silently cursed himself. He hated being sick; hated people seeing him like that. & worst of all, now he would have to explain to Paul why he was acting like a madman when he was giving John probably the most important piece of news in his life.

John’s face twisted in agony as he suddenly started gagging again, his body jerking forward with the gags, trying to force him to throw up again.

Too busy focusing on not letting himself throw up, his mind turned away from Paul & the gagging suddenly stopped.

“Jesus…” he mumbled to himself, standing up & rubbing his temple.

John paused, turning back to the toilet. His eyes widened & he immediately stumbled backward, running into the wall with a loud thud. He looked down at the toilet bowl in horror, his heart thumping loudly against his chest.

Laying sideways in the bowl, there was a large, single pink flower with its roots gripping to a patch of dirt. It looked joyless & more intimidating than the ringing of the phone.

"The fuck-?" he blurted, gasping in surprise at the sound of his own voice. 

* * *

Looking back, John figured he should’ve been more proactive. He could've told someone about what he was being put through. Yes, it was completely crazy, but he had the proof growing inside of his own stomach. He could have talked to Cynthia, a doctor, Mimi, George, Ringo, & hell, even Paul. 

But just like any other disease, it eventually passed. It took a long time, but John no longer woke choking on petals stuck in his throat or with a bouquet of flowers sticking out of his mouth. & along with the end of the flowers, so came the end of Paul‘s relationship with Jane. 

John wasn't exactly a skeptic, but his internal biases tried to deny it. Despite that, the simple fact that he first started throwing up flowers the day Paul got engaged & the disease went away the day of their official breakup was not lost on John. It allowed John an easy way out; a way to shift the blame to someone else while he preserved his own precious ego:

( _That disease...it was all Paul’s fault..._ ) 


End file.
